


Mountain Peak

by orphan_account



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Police, Angst, Gen, Lance (Voltron) Angst, Lance (Voltron)-centric, No Aliens, Pokemon AU, possible spoilers for Pokemon Sun and Moon postgame, racism from a clearly villainous and bigoted character, you don't have to have played the games to know what's going on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-10-11 23:44:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10477257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Lance, his partner Pokémon, and a team of International Police agents are assigned to investigate reports of illegal Pokémon trade in Unova's Cold Storage, where they stumble across something far more dangerous than they ever could have imagined. Working with RB Task Force agents 000 and 100kr, Lance and his team have to stop the Galra before their plans come to fruition.HIATUS (SORRY!!)





	

Hunk wakes me up with a small shock from his Raichu. It’s quick, silent, and efficient for hush-hush missions like these, but it doesn’t mean I grumble about it any less.

I groan, peeling my eyelids open. It’s a miracle they’ve let me sleep this long in the first place. The Raichu guilty of waking me levitates on its broad tail. It giggles (I think it giggles? I’m not an expert on translating rodent speech), dancing away from my bleary attempts to smack it.

“I was having a good dream,” I whine, forcing myself upright.

“Yeah?” Matt asks, sounding disinterested.

“Yeah. You know Miss Diantha from headquarters?” I ask, wiggling my eyebrows up and down.

“Lance, we don’t talk about our fantasies in front of the baby,” Hunk admonishes, jerking his chin at Katie. She’s almost ready, dressed and dragging a comb through her frizzy auburn hair. At Hunk’s comment, she sticks out her tongue.

“I’m fifteen,” she protests. “Most definitely not a baby.”

Matt snorts from his perch in the room’s armchair. “Right.”

He sits cross-legged, his packed messenger bag in his lap, and he looks much more foreboding than his rank as Senior Officer would imply. He’s already dressed, and is shining his three Pokéballs like the neat freak he is.

I roll out of bed and begin to straighten the sheets, shivering at the sudden lack of warmth. How cold had Matt set the thermostat? I turn to ask him just that, but he’s so focused on trying to clean a stubborn smudge off one of his Pokéballs that I decide not to bother him. He’s so out of it that he doesn’t even comment on my state of undress.

I pull my shirt on as fast as I can, wanting to take advantage of any rare moment Matt’s distracted. “My dream was completely PG,” I add, grabbing my jacket from off the floor. “We were just having a nice dinner! We didn’t even kiss.”

“Lance!” Hunk gasps, feigning shock. “You said the ‘k’ word!”

I chuckle and Katie grumbles something about immaturity as she coaxes her hair into a ponytail. I toss my wallet and belongings into my backpack, feeling my eyes drift towards Matt of their own accord. Once I realize what I’m doing, I snap my gaze back to my canvas shoes, lacing them up quickly. He’s still rubbing away at his capsules, his misty gaze trained onto the floor. I feel like I’m intruding on something personal just by being in the same room as him.

The hotel room is dead silent for a minute, save for the sounds of Hunk packing our duffel bag and the soft squeaks Matt’s Pokéball makes as it’s absentmindedly cleaned.

After what seems like an eternity, Matt clips the balls to his belt and stands up, snapping out of his reverie. He looks at his watch before putting on a bright smile.

“We’ve got about thirty till the rendezvous, team. Let’s go!” He pumps his fist in the air, a cheesy twang to his voice. He seems genuinely elated, in stark contrast with his behavior earlier. It’s kind of odd, but I can’t bring myself to dwell on it too much.

After all, I don’t know if I’d even want to be in the force if Matt wasn’t on my team. He’s positively radiant, a rare trait in Bug-type specialists, but he brightens up this somber job better than even the most charismatic Fairy-type trainer ever could. I clip my Pokéballs to my own belt, exchanging a worried glance with Hunk as we file into the hallway.

Try as you might, you can’t really stage a dramatic secret agent exit while crammed into an elevator. We get to the ground floor using the stairs and the receptionist bids us a bright goodbye after we check out. She tells us to “enjoy our day in the beautiful Driftveil City” with a good-natured wink, but I can’t help feel a little uneasy. I wonder if she knows what sorts of atrocities are happening just south of her beloved hometown.

Usually, there are buses or bike routes that run the length of the Unovan Coast, but it’s too early for either service to be open. We’re resigned to traversing the rolling hills by foot. It’s peaceful, actually- it reminds me of hiking up Mount Sekra with my siblings back home.

Matt talks, like he always does before missions, as the slowly rising sun bathes the horizon in vibrant yellows and reds. It’s another familiar ritual that soothes my worries from earlier. For the past few weeks, it’s seemed like he’s gotten gloomier and gloomier every mission, overexerting himself during fights and acting reclusive and self-destructive between them.

“The thing about port cities...” he begins, the timbre of his voice darkening. Hunk’s brow furrows as Matt’s hand strays toward the Pokéballs clipped at his belt. His mild resting face twists into one of absolute loathing.

“...Is that there’s an impossible amount of imports coming in around the clock, and it’s far more than these underpaid workers care to screen every single day. That makes places like the Cold Storage warehouses a prime spot for all sorts of Pokémon trafficking, especially for Ice- and Water-types.”

Katie, ever the faithful younger sister, picks up on the abandoned monologue. “You can hear the demolition teams from here,” she notes, lengthening her strides to keep up with us. “Do you think that the illegal trade will slow down at all once the new stadium is built?”

“In Driftveil? Sure, but not in Castelia or Undella or Virbank or any other city on earth.” Matt barks out a laugh, and he seems to shrink into himself. Suddenly, he looks exhausted.

“Then we have a lot of work to do,” I say, trying to channel reassurance into Matt. “What we do _does_ help. A ton. Pokémon need us, just as much as we need them.”

“He’s right,” Hunk supplies, slapping Matt on the shoulder. “It may seem impossible, but consider how many anti-smuggling groups there are like us, stationed all around the world. Every single officer working for the IP can change the lives of a Pokémon in need.”

Katie puts her arm around Matt’s waist for a clumsy sort of half-hug, which I smile fondly at. I’m about to remark on the sappy moment when my breath catches in my throat.

Cold Storage lies ahead of us, or below us, rather. From the windows of Driftveil Hotel it looked like a utopia: bright, upbeat, pristine. The industrial complex ahead of us looks destitute and lifeless. We are on the crest of a hill, plummeting towards a hellscape.

The land beneath us has grass the color of sand, dead and wilted. The air is already hard to breathe in. It's dark and hazy, thick with air pollution, and the massive smokestacks seem to pierce the very clouds.

“A-are we sure that’s the place?” Hunk asks. I can’t stand to look at the dismal warehouses and turn towards my friends, who seem just as shocked as I am.

“That’s the place, alright,” Matt says, voice devoid of fear, and walks down the incline of the hill. Numb and confused, I follow, reaching under my hoodie to reach my trainer belt. There I feel the cool metal of a Pokéball, rough edges worn smooth by age. I tap the metal button in the center of the capsule, and the ball opens with a pop.

“Hey, Swanna,” I say to the released bird Pokémon. She chirps in response, beady eyes flitting around uneasily. I kneel to stroke the downy feathers under her wing. “It’ll be alright,” I whisper, allowing her to take in the scenery. She trills at me, and takes flight, hovering a few feet above my head.

“Use Defog,” I order, my voice as calm as I can make it. She complies, beating her powerful wings several times. The smog in our vicinity clears, and Katie and Hunk send appreciative smiles my way.

“Good idea, Lance,” Matt says, stepping back into his leader shoes. We carry on towards our rendezvous point, the main security gate, ignoring deserted patches of tall grass. It’s eerily quiet here, and it feels as if we’ve landed on an alien planet. The sun heats the land rapidly, and even the air feels dry and motionless.

On our way down the path, Hunk spots a frail-looking Stoutland lying prostrate on the side of the path. He prods it with his foot, and it opens its eyes with a small whine. I am about to kneel down and help the pitiful canine when it lets out a hoarse bark. Despite its condition, it lunges for Hunk, slobbering jaws snapping mere inches away from his legs.

“Swanna, use Air Slash!” I shout, panicking. Swanna dives from her position above in an instant and produces two clumsy blades of air, neither of which hit their mark. They do succeed in scaring the poor Pokémon away from the dirt path, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Sorry if I spooked you, girl,” I call up to Swanna, and she lets out and indignant quack, continuing to beat away the advancing clouds of pollution.

Hunk is shaken but unharmed, and after making sure he’s alright, (“that thing was foaming at the mouth! It could’ve had rabies!”) Matt pushes forward.

We arrive at the security gates a little bit ahead of the meeting time. Matt stations himself at the base of the tall wall, taking Swanna to help him signal the officer dispatched to help us. Meanwhile, Hunk, Katie, and I are sent to let the security guard on duty know why we’re here.

Katie approaches him first, and he has no reaction but a subtle clench of his fist. “State your business,” he says, leering at her. He is a tall man, bald and sporting an impressive scar that cuts across one of his sunken eyes.

“International Police, sir. We’re here to investigate claims of illegal Pokémon trade in complex 18 of Cold Storage.” Hunk and I shadow her, standing a few paces away from the small booth. Through its tinted window, the guard looks downright demonic, his single eye gleaming out from the dimly-lit room.

“GP, huh?” he grunts, using the force’s archaic abbreviation. “They hiring a little young these days?” he asks with a cruel smirk. “And are those your bodyguards back there, little lady?”

He stands up and reaches for a cane with a Pokéball inlaid into its handle. “You and all those officers are downright insane if you believe for a second that there is anything unlawful going on inside of my Cold Storage.”

Something isn’t right here. I toss a nervous look back at Matt, who still stands at attention near the wall. “We have incriminating evidence that leads us to believe so,” I say, taking a few protective steps toward Katie. Hunk follows, duffel bag in tow.

“Oh?” the guard booms, opening the side door of his security booth. He somehow makes limping look menacing, shuffling into the pale morning light with all the urgency of a lethargic Slowbro.

“Yes,” I affirm, adding a quick “sir” as an afterthought. I see Swanna out of the corner of my eye, still flying in near-perfect regulation circles around Matt. Why hasn’t our debriefing officer arrived yet?

The security guard’s uniform is beige and blends well into the landscape surrounding him: dead grass and loose sand from the demolition efforts. He takes a few staggering steps towards me and jabs at my sternum with a crooked finger. The rising sun catches his name badge as he straightens, and it reads “Iverson” in official-looking lettering.

“Boonie filth,” he snarls at me, close enough that I get a strong whiff of his caffeine-scented breath. Near me, Hunk hears the slur and stiffens, looking murderous. I struggle to keep my face devoid of emotion, looking into his beady brown eye with an even gaze.

Dissatisfied with my lack of a reaction, he whips his head toward Hunk and cackles. “Yea, you too, big guy. You think just because you flash those fancy badges you deserve my respect? You’re nothing more than the scum on my boot.”

“Stop it!” Katie cries, and she looks more affronted than I’ve ever seen her before. “You’re disgusting! Do you think it’s right to say those things to an officer?”

Iverson lets out a laugh worthy of a Pokéstar Studios villain, leaning farther forward on his cane. “Do you know what those savages do in their home regions? Your scrawny friend looks like he’s from Fiore, and they don’t even have Pokéballs there yet!”

I swallow thickly, remembering the different Pokémon I befriended at home even without the use of a ball. When I’d come to Sinnoh for my police training, I thought it was inhumane for Pokémon, creatures of mother nature, to belong to people. There had been nights I cried myself to sleep just trying to accustom myself to the idea of trapping a friend in a claustrophobic capsule.

I want to tear this vile man apart with my bare hands, but Hunk’s petrified expression deters me from the idea. Instead, I fiddle with my Simipour’s Net Ball, allowing my finger to stray dangerously close to the gray release button.

“This one-” he whips his head back towards Hunk- “looks Alolan, and those folks haven’t got it through their thick skulls that any modern government needs a strong Pokémon League to have any use at all!”

Hunk snaps, calling out his Electivire with an enraged cry.

“Hunk, no!” Katie shouts, running for him. I hold her back on instinct, imagining the look on Matt’s face if I told him his little sister had gotten hurt on my watch. She puts up a fiendish fight, and I have to struggle to hold her as she kicks and screams.

Iverson cracks his knuckles before sending out a Pokémon of his own. It’s a Spiritomb, a wraithlike cloud of violet projected from a trapezoidal stone. The Pokémon howls, and it sends a shiver down my spine. Hunk’s Electivire lets out a snarl that’s equally as terrifying.

I hoist Katie up until she’s slung over my shoulder, and sprint away from what is soon to be the site of an intense Pokémon battle, but I don’t get very far.

“Pidgeot, use Hurricane!” a voice orders from above my head. _Oh no_ , I think, panic clawing at the inside of my throat. A fully evolved Pokémon is about to use its most powerful move, and Katie and I are far too close for comfort. I dive to the grass, pushing her under me, and roll myself into a ball. Around me, I feel the wind whipping at my back and my body slowly rising from the ground.

“Simipour!” I howl, wind ripping the voice from my throat. Luckily, my Pokémon hears from inside his capsule, and I can feel his Pokéball open.

“Use Protect!” I bellow. Simipour lets out a throaty growl in response, summoning a wall of energy similar to glass. Though he’s had years of battle experience, his protective shield doesn’t stand a chance against a full out Hurricane from a Pidgeot.

The Protect shatters, and I manage to call Simipour back into its ball, my hand quivering violently. Katie burrows her head into the crook of my neck and I lift my head, shifting my body weight off of her and trying to spot the direction the intense winds are coming from.

I scream as best as I can in between facefulls of dead grass, grabbing onto Katie even tighter. In an anticlimactic end, we’re dropped back onto the earth and the violent gales die off. The hurricane has moved onto its real target.

It happens in a split second- I see Hunk grabbing onto his hefty Electivire’s shoulders, and I see Iverson recalling his Spiritomb, and then I don’t see Iverson. Katie squirms out from under me and gawks at the scene, distraught. I scan the smoggy sky, looking for an explanation, a sign that the security guard hadn’t just _vanished_.

What type of Pidgeot could send a grown man flying so easily? I shudder despite myself, feeling kind of bad for Iverson.

“Pidgeot, retrieve the security guard,” our savior orders, and the majestic Pokémon complies with a mighty caw.

The Pidgeot is one of the largest I’ve ever seen, and it looks even larger from my vantage point on the ground. As it takes off, I peel myself from the grass, feeling fatigue burn in my shoulders. I’m rubbing at the dirt on my face when Matt runs up to us, Hunk in tow.

“Katie!” he shrieks, gathering her shuddering frame in his arms. They embrace, and I spare a glance at Hunk, who still clings tightly onto his humanoid Pokémon. Swanna perches on my head, shaken from the powerful Hurricane. With a reassuring pat, I return her to her Pokéball, turning to the Pidgeot’s owner.

He is broad-chested and long-limbed, but a bit on the older side. He looks youthful and springy nevertheless, beaming at us and dancing on the balls of his feet. His bright red hair is gelled back smartly, and his navy blue suit is impossibly wrinkle-free.

Matt places his hands on his hips as he confronts the strange man. “Who exactly are you?”

“I’m with the IP," he says, pulling out his ID card from his breast pocket. "I was assigned to debrief you.”

"Where  _were_ you?" I ask incredulously. "That man- Iverson- he wasn't from the force, was he?"

"Iverson indeed wasn't in the employment of any regional police departments," the man answers. Straightening his tie, he adds, "and I was exactly on time for the debriefing, officer."

His gaze pans upwards to follow his Pokémon as it hovers above us, Iverson in its talons. He gestures to his Pidgeot, and moments later, the unconscious security guard lands in the wilting grass with a hard clunk. “You can call me 000," he says.

Oh, a codenamed officer? I recall my Swanna from in the air and secure both of my Pokéballs safely on my belt. This  man seems trustworthy enough, and we’ve breathed in enough of the smog that we’ve gotten accustomed to the odor.

“I’m Junior Officer Lance, and this is Hunk, Katie, and Senior Officer Matt.”

“Katie and Matt Holt, perchance?” 000 asks, eyes glinting mischievously. “Children of Sam Holt?”

They nod in agreement, and 000 guffaws. “I work with your father! In fact, I just saw him last week! I’ll say, Matt, you’re the spitting image of Sam!”

Still chuckling to himself, 000 rolls Iverson over and cuffs him. “I’m here tracking down this man, a bounty hunter in association with a crime syndicate that call themselves the G-”

“-the Galra,” Matt interrupts. “Guys, we’ve seen them before. Remember that last case we took in White Forest? A gang of poachers out there talked about a group called the Galra!”

“A team of Junior Officers taking on a case in the White Forest?” 000 looks bewildered. “I’d like to see you four in battle some day.”

Matt beams, squaring his shoulders. “So, some of the Galra have made complex 18 their base, then? Is this where they sell the captured Pokémon?”

000 nods at Matt, leaning a tightly bound Iverson against his partner. “Our intelligence leads us to believe so.” He whispers something to his Pidgeot, who takes off towards the city.

“What’s your Pidgeot doing with him?” Katie asks, narrowing her eyes.

000 holds up his hands defensively. “Just taking him to the police station in Driftveil,” he placates. “After our mission, we’ll be able to send Iverson to a maximum security prison on the Sevii Islands.”

“Why is he such a threat?” It’s Hunk who pipes up this time, still leaning heavily on his Pokémon.

“Should I be telling you kids this?" he muses aloud, then shrugs at Matt. "You're a senior officer and the son of Sam Holt. What harm could it do. " 000 bleats out a nervous laugh. "The Galra are a massive organized crime syndicate. Their leader, known as Zarkon, wants to cause far more harm than just trading illegal Pokémon. They have branches in nearly every region on earth, and they’re planning to use the profits they get from trafficking to do something massive.”

“What?” I ask, when nobody else does. My team is stunned into silence, and the shock is clear on their paling faces. “What are they planning?”

Maybe my perspective as an outsider limits my understanding of the scope of the Galra’s reach. In Fiore, Pokémon would only assist the few they deemed worthy, and their mere presence and power dissolved any crime as soon as it began. Here, in a world where Pokémon are at the mercy of anyone who can afford a Pokéball, people with bad intentions and a lot of money are truly dangerous.

000 hesitates to answer my question, teeth worrying at his bottom lip. He offers us a shaky smile. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention my blatant breaches of security to the chief, but do you know what a Robeast is?"

**Author's Note:**

> First fanfic for the Voltron fandom and first fanfic on ao3! If you have any questions about either the Pokémon or the Voltron side of this fanfic, feel free to ask


End file.
